Handcuffs and Lace 09 -She's Got Balls (2 page)

Fucking panties
did
bind, damn it. Or it could have been the hosiery trucking up his ass, and whichever sadist had fucking invented the bra was going to see a slow, painful death right after Chris had a chance to soak his cramped toes.

A couple of moving grunts wheezed by with the last few pieces of furniture. Chris tried not to reach between his ass cheeks and yank out the offending fabric. Being ladylike sucked. His ass would be chafed before the end of the day, and any prospect of sex would have to be avoided at the risk of additional irritation. Ass-burn wasn’t a pleasant prospect.

Which reminded him: He owed Vin for the fucking Brazilian bikini wax which still had him straddling ice packs whenever he had a chance to sit. That shit was just mean.
“I told ya you’d look good in pink,” Vin said.
Chris glared up at him. “Seriously? You’re going to start this now?”
“Pitch that a little higher,
honey
, you’re sounding hoarse.”
“Okay, let’s start it then,” Chris snarled. He shot a look around quickly taking stock of who’d get to see this next little stunt and how loudly he had to project his voice.
Vin’s eyes narrowed.
Swinging his cheap Gucci knock-off and smacking Vin in the chest, Chris screeched feminine outrage. “How
dare
you? We haven’t even moved in and you’re already calling your girlfriend
on my cell phone
! You are a piece of work, Vinny. How do you expect us to make a fresh start when you can’t leave the old life behind?”
Chris smacked him again and again until finally the baggie filled with oregano he’d been trying to dislodge flew out of the purse and landed on the sidewalk.
“Vinny?” Vin growled under his breath.
“You said I was special. You said I was the only one for you. But you think I’m fa-fafaaaaaat!” Chris dropped his arms limply and began to wail dramatically.
“Oh, shit,” Vin said, his eyes as huge as saucers. “Shh! Hey, cut that out.”
“You said you liked my body but, but, but, but you
lied
.” Chris resumed smacking Vin’s chest, head, arms, anything he could reach with the ridiculous handbag. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the mover picking up the baggie and two women whispering over their fences nearby.
Vin looked about wildly, alternately ducking and trying to shush him.
Chris wailed louder. “Why don’t you love me anymore? Haven’t I given you everything? Don’t I go down on you whenever you want? Even when you ask me to do those nasty, nasty things, don’t I do them?”
“Shh! Yeah, baby, you do all that.” Vin held out his hands placating.
The bigger man’s hunched shoulders and panicked expression only fired Chris’ drama.
“And that time you begged me to put on the diaper and clown mask, you said no one had ever done that for you before.” Chris turned to the chuckling movers with tearful eyes. He gasped sharply. “Vinny! They’ve got my
oregano
! Vinny, make them give it back! I can’t make your lasagna without the oregano.”
“It’s okay, baby, I’ll get it back. I swear.” Vin turned and leveled a look at the mover with the baggie. “My wife wants her oregano.
Now
!” he thundered.
The hapless man tossed the bag into the air. Vin caught it and shoved it at Chris.
Nice save
, Chris thought.
“Now, Christy baby, say you won’t leave me over a little call.”
Chris blinked, searched for something to harp on and came up dry. He sniffled instead. “Oh look, my mascara is going to run.”
“It’s okay. You look great. I think you’re sexy when you get jealous.” Vin said, a toothy grin mischievously split his lips.
“You don’t think I’m fat?” Chris wheedled.
“No, baby. You’re sexy as hell.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah, baby.” Vin gently cupped Chris’ hips and drew him closer. Close enough that Chris could see the way Vin flicked glances around them instead of looking at him. “Don’t like those wimpy, flabby chicks. I like the way you give as good as you get.”
Interesting
. How far could he push Vin?
“Oh, Vinny,” Chris sighed. Then with a wicked grin of his own, Chris threw his arms around him. “Kiss me.”
Vin’s nostrils flared and his icy gaze locked on Chris’ uncertainly. Chris tightened his smile and fluttered his lashes in challenge. He knew the moment Vin committed by the steely determination in his crystalline gaze and the half-quirk of his lips as he accepted.
He descended, swooping down to take Chris’ lips in heated assault. Firm and full, they crashed against his. Day-end whiskers prickled the outer rim of Chris’ mouth. Strands of hair from the wig stuck like loose netting on Chris’ perfectly applied lip-gloss, distracting but not creating any resistance. Chris’ lungs expanded sharply yet the air he breathed saturated his senses with a hint of mint and oak. Only enough to make him wish he could breath deeper still. His stomach plummeted, or soared, or both, and deep rolling tingles engulfed unsuspecting nerves in his pelvis.
Whistles and hoots from the movers filtered through the roar of blood in his ears.
When Vin’s tongue swept into his mouth, Chris’ knees weakened. He blamed the damn heels—oh holy hell, his dick was on fire!
Oblivious to the pain, Vin’s fingers tightened on Chris’ hips, dragging him forward. In defense, Chris pushed at Vin’s chest.
“Stop,” Chris gasped for only them to hear. Groin burning, he clutched the front of Vin’s shirt to hold himself steady. The pain lingered—none too subtle proof that his restricted
junk
didn’t take kindly to stimulation.
“Your dare,” Vin reminded.
“My rules,” Chris finished, still wincing.
Damn that man. He can fucking
kiss.
“You look pale,” Vin said, holding him as he ducked to see Chris’ face.
Onlookers would see it as a lover’s embrace. Chris tipped his head aside. It would be a cold day in hell before he let the guy see how badly he wanted to continue that kiss. But maybe next time without restricted blood flow to vital parts of his anatomy. Shit, that hurt!
“You okay?” Vin asked. He scanned the neighborhood. “We should go inside.”
Chris had no desire to move just this second. Maybe in another moment or two when things went completely dead in his groin region. “Why? We look like the happy couple making up after a spat.”
“You look like you’re about to puke.”
“You mean you don’t get that reaction all the time? I’m shocked,” Chris said.
“Shithead.”
“Mutant.”
He ventured a look at Vin. Clearly, the lumbering giant had never tucked his stiffy before or there would be no confusion on his gorgeous mug. Admittedly, Chris hadn’t either, pantyhose being a new, and not delightful, experience. Well, he would hardly explain to Vin that the impromptu kiss had taken Chris well on the way toward a hard-on. Vin would never let that kind of information drop.
Pain subsided and Chris released Vin’s shirt. Chris shouldered his purse and swept past him, chin held high. He needed privacy to pull himself together. Okay, and let some of him out. Of pantyhose.
“By the way,” Chris said as Vin followed him into the house. “The Master suite is mine. You’ve got the guest room.”
He glanced back.
Vin scowled as though preparing to object.
Chris held up a finger to stop him. “It has a vanity table in the bathroom. When you have to put on makeup and set your wig, we can trade places. Until then, you can stretch your six foot huge on one of the twin beds across the hall.”
* * * *
Chris watched the slatted track of light swing from one wall to the other as dawn advanced into early morning. He strained to hear beyond his door to where he’d relegated Vin.
A man that big should snore. He should talk in his sleep or something
. Chris heard nothing.
After the night before, he hadn’t heard so much as a grunt from the other man. The door had closed early once they’d eaten bologna sandwiches and potato chips at opposite ends of the couch. Meager, albeit expensive, furniture already graced their appointed places, the kitchen had been put away and the closets filled with clothes and linens. All because neither of them spoke.
He didn’t think it was a hardship for Vin. For Chris, who wanted to know if Vin had any thoughts about that kiss, it was torture.
Can a straight man kiss another man like he needed it more than air? Could Vin
act
that well? The Chief had said he had a blemish-free record of undercover work. There’d been nothing else to indicate Vin batted for the same team Chris did.
But that
kiss.
It still made his breath catch and butterflies dance in his belly. And it still made his cock fill. The way it filled now. Chris reached beneath the sheets, firmly rubbing himself.
His breathing had just started quickening, his head just slicking with moisture, when Vin knocked on his door.
“What?” he yelled, pissed at the interruption.
“Get up.”
“I’m up.”
Understatement of the year
.
“Get dressed.”
“I’m busy,” Chris snapped, circling his thumb over his moist slit before sliding back down his cock. He watched the foot-shadows shift beneath the door. Finally, they moved away.
Chris quit stroking. He sighed and swore, then rolled out of bed. Looking around for a pair of jeans, he rolled his eyes when he realized there weren’t any. “Undercover ops suck.”
No evidence existed to prove he wasn’t who he said he was. Not even a fucking pair of sweats. He sighed again and reached for the godawful daisy robe. “I’ll fucking kill him if he laughs,” Chris muttered.
He washed up and cinched the belt tightly around his waist. He stormed toward the kitchen with his daisy-covered dick pointing the way. “I’m coming!” he shouted.
Vin leaned in the kitchen archway to the living room and entry, a steaming coffee mug lifted to his lips. His eyebrow arched pointedly as his glacial gaze drifted over Chris and paused on his cock. Still sipping, he reached down the side of the entry wall. Vin lifted an umbrella and popped it open toward Chris. “Fire when ready.”
“Fuck off.”
“Pretty sure that’s your department at the moment,” Vin quipped. He closed and lowered the umbrella, giving Chris plenty of excuse to look at the expanse of naked, muscled chest.
“It
would
have been if you hadn’t interrupted. What the hell was so important that I had to get up at the ass-crack of dawn?”
Vin took another leisurely sip of coffee. “Oh, there’s no question that it’s
wood
.” He twisted toward the kitchen, hollering through the pass way as he walked away. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Cream, no sugar,” Chris said, following him in.
The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee permeated the air. Chris found himself tracking the nimble twist of Vin’s fingers as he uncapped the cream, the flex of tendons over the back of his hand when he lifted the carton and poured carefully. Metal circled and clicked against stoneware, held in Vin’s grasp.
“What’s that?” Chris asked, his eyes settling on a bright orange makeup bag.
“Gag gifts from your crew. Fuzzy cuffs, lube, condoms.”
“Assholes.”
“Whose?” Vin asked calmly.
Chris chose to ignore the barb.
Vin turned and offered the creamy brew to Chris, handle out, even as he took another sip of his own. Chris took it. He scrubbed his hair absently, not caring if the blond strands stood on end.
“God, this smells good,” Chris murmured. Tasted damn fine too and gave him an excuse to drop Vin’s gaze.
“Mm,” Vin acknowledged.
“You’re a big talker, aren’t you?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Thought so. Listen, I’m not sure about you, but I don’t think that a lot of housewives are ready to take visitors this early in the morning. Think you could let me sleep a little longer next time?” Chris asked.
“You stickin’ with that story?” Vin lifted his chin in the direction of Chris’ groin. “Gotta admire your commitment to the cause.”
“It’s been a good boy, chained up for hours at a time. Thought I’d let it out to roam and pat its head. What the fuck do you care?”
Amusement twinkled in Vin’s eyes. He shrugged a shoulder and quietly continued to sip his coffee.
“Bottomless fucking mug is what you’re holding. Sip, sip, sip. I think you’re hiding shit. Hard to trust a guy who doesn’t talk and hides behind a mug. Spit it out, already. I can see the wheels turning.”
“Your switch always on
pissed
?” Vin asked.
Chris clamped his jaw.
Vin refilled his mug. He swung the carafe toward Chris in offer.
Black coffee straight up. Figures
. “No, thanks.”
Vin reached for a bottle Chris hadn’t noticed, and squirted a healthy dose of chocolate syrup into the cup, swirled the spoon, and resumed sipping.
Chris’ startled laugh spilled forth. Hot, ripped, and deadly—with a sweet tooth? It was like seeing a dog meow.
Vin studied him over the rim of his mug, motionless but for the tip and release of his cup.
He watched Vin too. One thick arm folded across his chest served as a surface for the other elbow. Even in relative repose, Vin’s musculature appeared flexed and taut beneath his tight skin. The barest sprinkle of tiny black curls dusted his pecs and veed downward into a slim trail, lost beneath the edge of his jeans.
Solidly built without an ounce of fat, on a wide-shouldered, thick wristed frame a Valkyrie would be proud of, Vin could kill a man in one lethal, fluid motion. Though he’d never been small compared to most men, he wouldn’t stand a chance against Vin in combat.
Vin propped his ass against the line of cabinets and casually crossed his ankles. “You were right,” he said, finally breaking the silence.
“About?”
“Your mascara smudges.” The amused twinkle had re-entered Vin’s eyes.
“Ah.”
“You look like shit.”
“I had a rough night,” Chris said.
“Looks like some woman jumped you, fucked you all night long, and left her makeup all over your face.”
A wry smile tugged at Chris’ lips. “My bedmates don’t generally wear makeup. It’s not a quality I find attractive.”
Vin shrugged a shoulder again. “I dunno. I think it’s kinda cute.”
Chris stilled. Did he mean women waking up with smeared makeup was cute or
Chris
smeared with makeup was cute? He mentally chewed on the words, searching Vin’s expression for a tell, but found nothing.
“Good call on the fight yesterday,” Vin said.
“Seemed like a good idea at the time. And it got the stash of oregano out in the open. I just hope the fight didn’t scare off any of the neighbors.”
“It didn’t.”
“How can you be sure? Most people avoid domestic issues, and we raised the roof,” Chris said.
“The two women talking didn’t like me. They sympathized with you even after the kiss.”
Chris felt his cheeks heat. He didn’t think he could stand the tension any longer, so he busied himself finding the bowls they’d unpacked yesterday. Snatching a box of cereal, he tried to convince himself he wanted breakfast more than he wanted Vin.
Vin set down his mug and made to leave. “Typical housewives
don’t
expect early visitors, but you require more maintenance than a typical housewife. You’re wearing old makeup, but you still look like a guy. By the time you’re done, there will be a knock at the door,” he said, alluding to their earlier conversation.